Simon Says: Case of Duty, Honor and Death (standard:mystery, 4044 words)
Author: pjlawton	Added: Oct 03 2004	Views/Reads: 3403/2477	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Winston Simon is hired to investigate an appearant accidental death at an Army post. Sometimes things just aren't always what they seem.

Simon Says: Case of Duty, Honor, and Death 

By 

P.J. Lawton 

Simon says - - There's always a light at the end of the tunnel - -
unless someone comes along and turns out the light 

I hadn't had a case in six months but I didn't really care.  I still had
a little money in the bank left from my last case plus the shoulder 
with the big bullet hole still hadn't healed completely.  Anyway being 
a man of leisure had it advantages.  Right, who was I kidding; I was 
bored out of my skull.  My name is Winston Simon and I'm a private 
detective. 

I had been a police officer until that little exercise call the Gulf War
came along.  I was a reserve officer and while on duty in Saudi Arabia 
one of Saddam's lousy Scud missiles had landed a little to close. After 
three surgeries I had a new plastic knee and a small Veteran's 
Administration pension.  Of course I couldn't be a police officer 
anymore.  I took my meager savings and bought a failing detective 
agency. The rest that say is history. 

I was sitting in my small office watching a brain numbing game show on
my 9-inch BW TV when she walked in. She was a small very pretty woman 
in her late 30S or early 40s with mocha colored skin and straight black 
hair. Her movements were smooth and effortless. When she spoke her 
voice had a breathless quality. 

“Good Morning, are you Winston Simon?” 

I reached over and switched off my TV. “That's me.” 

“Mister Simon I need your help. Its, It's my son, he's dead.” Suddenly
she was crying. 

I handed her a packet of tissue and waited. Presently she stopped
crying, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. 

“Mister Simon, I'm sorry. It's been three weeks since the funeral and I
still can't believe he's gone.” 

“That's okay Miss . . .” 

“Jones, Silvia Jones, but please call me Silvia.” 

“Okay Silvia, you can call me Simon, everybody does. Now what can I do
for you?” 

She didn't speak but simply handed me a newspaper clipping. It was dated
a little over a month earlier and read.  “Soldier killed in training 
accident.” It went on to explain that a soldier at Fort Sill Oklahoma 
had been shot during a night fire exercise. The shooting appeared to be 
accidental but a formal investigation was pending. The identity of the 
soldier was being withheld pending notification of the next of kin. 

I finished reading the article then looked at her for a few seconds.
“Silvia, I am truly sorry for your loss but unfortunately military 
training accidents happen. The Army will conduct a full investigation, 
I'm not sure I understand what you want me to do.” 

With fierceness in her voice she said, “It was no accident, my son was
murdered!” 

“But Silvia, I know how hard it is to accept. . .” 

She raised a hand to stop me speaking. “Please Mister Simon, let me
explain.”  For the next 10 minutes she talked about her son. About how 
he had always wanted to be a solder and how proud he was to be a 
Military Policeman. She explained that in his eight years service he 
had never been in any type trouble and since making Sergeant had 
receive excellent proficiency reports. 

As she stopped to take a breath I took the opportunity to politely


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